Daughters and Sons
by acgormy3
Summary: Because even witches and wizards need a little help from the ones who raised them.
1. Surreal

**Why hello there :)**

**So this idea just came to me, out of the blue one day. I was probably in the shower, where life's most profound thoughts and feelings take place.**

**So there will be approximately 4-6 chapters per character, centered around different events. This is the first Hermione chapter, set right before she leaves for her first year of Hogwarts.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter = NOT MINE**

***acgormy3**

_**August 1991**_

Surreal.

This was the only word suitable for what was going on in Hermione's life. Had it really been almost two months since she found out she was a witch? Two months since she'd come home from her last day of primary school to find a sharp looking woman in a green cloak sitting in her living room? Two months since her life had changed forever?

That day had turned her world upside-down. As she sat, sandwiched between her parents on their living room sofa, she remembered thinking that this was some kind of cruel joke; that someone had decided this was too good to save for April Fool's Day. It was only when the woman (Minerva McGonagall, she had called herself), pulled out a thin stick of wood and turned their television set into a sheep and back again that everything had begun to fall into place in her brain. That time when the bullies who had been pulling locks of her bushy hair had been suddenly pelted with books from the shelf across the classroom. That other time when everything in her pencil case that had been knocked out of her hand was suddenly pointed like arrows at the two boys who had done it. The other strange occurrences that had been taking place lately; they all made sense now. Witchcraft. Even though it went against all the logic her parents had instilled in her since she could first walk and talk, she had no trouble accepting that this was now going to be a huge part of who she was. As Minerva McGonagall began to explain more about Hogwarts, she listened with rapt attention, all the while staring at the stick of wood still sitting in the woman's lap. She could feel a quiet power emanating from it; _that must be the magic, _she thought.

There was no longer a doubt in her mind. She was a witch. There was a whole new world out there.

This fascinated her. Ever since she was in nursery school and beginning primary school, she had always been curious and inquisitive and amazed by new things. When Professor McGonagall handed her the official Hogwarts letter, she sat without opening it for quite some time, running her hand over the thick parchment, the green ink, and the red wax seal with the strange crest. When she stepped through the brick entranceway to Diagon Alley, she was speechless; running from shop to shop and pressing her face to the windows, staring for so long that her breath would fog up the clear glass. But she didn't care. She was too busy absorbing everything around her. And it didn't stop once she got home; she shut herself in her room and obsessively read all of her textbooks, cover to cover. She drank in the information like a sponge. She walked around her bedroom in her full set of robes, and would twirl her wand between her fingers constantly. Once, she twirled it so fast and for so long that sparks flew out the end. She had let out a scream and dropped the wand onto the pink rug on her bedroom floor, but she had never been so elated in all her almost twelve years. She'd been counting down the days until she took the train to Hogwarts; marking an X through each day on her calendar before she went to bed with her favorite blue fountain pen.

But now that there was only one more box on her August calendar clear of a blue X, the world that had fascinated Hermione for the better part of two months was beginning to terrify her. Tomorrow she was going to leave not only her parents and her house, but her entire world behind until she came back for a short while at Christmas. What if she wasn't prepared? What if she had no idea what she was doing? What if people were mean to her because she hadn't grown up around wizards? What if she was so horribly behind with magic that her professors branded her an idiot for all seven years?

As Hermione lay on her bed, these worries began to multiply, so much so that she felt a physical weight on her chest. Although she had always been hugely praised by her parents, teachers, and other adults, she had a tendency to be very insecure with herself. She knew she would never get to sleep if she stayed up here with just her own thoughts for company. The elephant that seemed to be sitting on her chest would make itself far too comfortable if she stayed alone in her room. She swung her legs over the edge of her bed, stood up, and padded down the hall and down the stairs in her sock feet.

She saw her parents still sitting in the living room. Her father was sitting in his easy chair; glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he scanned the news section of _The Daily Mail_. Her mother was sitting on one end of the sofa; feet curled underneath her with her whole lower body covered in an afghan as she made her way through this month's novel. Hermione felt her heart swell. Although her parents had been more than a little confused when Professor McGonagall showed up that fateful June day, they had been nothing but supportive of her; driving her all the way to London and allowing her to drag them through Diagon Alley as if she had them on a leash. She knew they would never fully understand the world she was about to enter, but she also knew they would never cease to love her and giver their undying support. She was going to miss them more than anything. Her father looked up from his newspaper as he heard her step on one of the creaky parts of their hardwood floor.

"Hermione, darling!" Her father exclaimed, checking his watch. "You should be in bed, dear! You need to be well-rested for your trip tomorrow; it's going to be a long one."

Hermione sighed and walked into the living room, sitting down on the couch next to her mother and snuggling against her arm. Her mother took the afghan off herself and threw it over Hermione's legs. When she continued to stay silent, both of her parents put down their reading material and looked over at her; she was studying her hands in her lap and kept on taking deep, calming breaths. Her mother put an arm around her and began stroking her bushy brown hair.

"What's wrong, dear?" Her voice sounded concerned. "It's not like you to not be able to sleep."

Hermione took one last deep, calming breath. She didn't like announcing her weaknesses; she had always projected a strong and confident exterior, even around her parents.

"I'm scared." She said in a voice so small she could barely hear it herself. However, her parents knew her well enough to know what she was trying to say.

"For tomorrow?" Her father asked. She nodded, still looking down at her hands.

"Sweetheart, that's only natural." Her mother said soothingly. She looked fondly down at her bushy-haired little girl, who was usually so confident, looking nervous and unsure of herself. "You're going somewhere completely new tomorrow. You have nothing to compare it to, and you have no idea what to expect. Of course you're nervous!"

"I won't have any idea what I'm doing." Hermione said, finally looking up into her mother's eyes, identical to her own. "Everyone else has been around magic their entire life. What if I make a mistake or a faux pas and everyone thinks I'm an idiot?"

Her father, recognizing his daughter's distress, got up from his recliner and plopped down on the couch on Hermione's other side. He put an arm around her and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Hermione, dear, there will be plenty of other people in your exact situation. Even the kids who've been around magic their whole lives won't have been to Hogwarts before." Her dad assured her. "They won't know what to expect either. They'll get lost, be late to class, and mess up spells too. They'll probably even more likely to, because they haven't done all the research they can, read their textbooks seven times each, or pored over a map of Hogwarts day and night, the way you have. It'll all even out."

This speech left Hermione feeling slightly better, but the elephant on her chest had only slightly reduced; it was only about the size of a rhinoceros now. She put aside all her confidence and pride for this one moment and finally asked the real question that had been plaguing her; the one that riddles all pre-teens everywhere: "What if I don't make friends? What if I don't fit in?"

Both her parents felt their hearts break as they heard their daughter's small voice finally spill her insecurities. They were sad that this was what she was focusing on instead of being excited about the new journey ahead of her, like she had been the past two months.

Her father took both her shoulders in his hands, and turned her so that she was entirely facing him, looking directly into his hazel eyes with her chocolate brown ones. "Hermione, you listen to me," he began. "You are one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. You're kind and curious and sympathetic and smart. That is the kind of person people want to be friends with. You're going to find your niche very soon, and it's only going to get better as the years go on. Just go in there and be yourself. You're going to wow them."

Hermione's eyes were shining with tears as she hugged her dad harder than she ever had. "I'm going to miss you two," she said as she turned to her mother and squeezed her with all her might. "I'm going to write you all the time."

All three of them had tears in their eyes as they formed a giant three-person hug on their sofa, as the rhinoceros residing on Hermione's chest slowly shrunk until it disappeared, replaced with a flame of excitement and pride.

She was going to wow the Wizarding World.


	2. Alone

**2nd Hermione Chapter - Set in ****_Prisoner of Azkaban _****during "Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw"**

**Disclaimer: HP belongs to JK**

***acgormy3**

_**February 1994**_

Alone.

Hermione had never felt so alone in her entire life. Not when she had been bullied mercilessly in primary school. Not when her parents went on an anniversary vacation and left her with their neighbor who worked ten hours a day. Not even in her first two months at Hogwarts, when pretty much everyone had avoided her; the bossy know-it-all who wouldn't let anyone get a word in edgewise. Nope. This topped the list. Because, you see, in those past incidents, she had pretty much always been alone. She hadn't had many friends at Muggle school, so it wasn't as though they kept on walking while she was bullied. When she first started at Hogwarts, it was the same situation. She'd always been a loner, so she was still able to walk with her head held high, knowing she was smartest girl in the year and not caring what anyone else thought.

And although it had still ate away inside her that she didn't have any friends, she was still able to get through it, because that's how it had always been.

But not this time.

Because although it is a horrible feeling to not have any friends, the feeling of having your two best friends in the entire world practically abandon you in favor of each other is infinitely worse.

Ever since that fateful Halloween, it had always been Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Hermione, Harry, and Ron. For more than two years, she had been constantly surrounded by the two best things to ever happen to her, besides her parents. They made life at Hogwarts bearable, and provided an escape from the constantly giggling girls with whom she shared a dormitory (Hermione wasn't a giggler). They dragged her into all their antics; Harry with his hero complex and Ron's constant need to stand out from his brothers brought on many more adventures than she was used to, but she had loved every minute of it. They taught her about real bravery and taking risks, and sacrifice and true friendship. Her heart had lodged in her throat when she saw Ron get knocked out by the White Queen almost two years previously, and her stomach had twisted horribly throughout the entire Quidditch match when Harry was being chased by the rogue Bludger. The looks on their faces as the ran down the Great Hall toward them at the end of last year after being un-Petrified confirmed that they felt the same about her as she did about them. They were her brothers; her partners-in-crime; her best friends.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Hermione, Harry, and Ron.

Now, however…

Now it was more like Harry and Ron, and Hermione and her endless stack of books. This year was proving to be more stressful than the previous two combined, and with her whole Time-Turner situation, it was slowly becoming impossible to keep everything in balance. Laughing and hanging out with Harry and Ron had been her only outlet, and now that it seemed they were fully ignoring her, she was close to breaking point. She was known to snap at people who were being too loud in the Common Room, forgetting to eat, and constantly being on edge. Going down to visit Hagrid had helped, as he had always been kind and helpful to her, but he wasn't the constant that she needed in her life right now.

Her breaking point finally came the day that Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw in the Quidditch match to go on to the final against Slytherin. She had of course gone to the match, and was very happy that they had won, but she had sat alone, very close to the exit, and had high-tailed it back to the Common Room after the match to work on an Ancient Runes essay. She had finished the essay and was beginning to attempt to read her Muggle studies book when the rest of the house finally got to the Common Room for the post-match party. The Common Room was steadily getting louder and louder as Fred and George had pulled out all the stops, and somehow even managed to get a bunch of food from Hogsmeade.

Hermione had barely made a dent in her six-hundred page book when Harry came over to her. She didn't look up at him, even when he was right in front of her. She sensed his concern. He was being slightly nicer about the whole situation that Ron, but she was still mad at him for siding with the ginger boy.

"Did you even come to the match?" Harry asked.

"Of course I did," she responded. Her voice was several octaves higher than usual; it sounded strange coming from her own mouth. She continued, "And I'm very glad we won, and I think you did really well, but I need to read this by Monday." She finally looked up at him as she finished this sentence. He was holding a bottle of Butterbeer and looked happy, but she could see his emerald eyes fill with concern at her expense.

"Come on, Hermione, come and have some food," Harry implored her. He glanced over at Ron. This small action made Hermione angry. Why was he so concerned what Ron would think if he saw Harry talking to her? A large lump began to rise in Hermione's throat, and it made her voice sound even more hysterical when she next spoke.

"I can't Harry. I've still got four-hundred and twenty-two pages to read," she said, holding up her book to show him exactly the thickness of the unread pages. She gave a quick, furtive glance in Ron's direction as well. He was rummaging through a bag of Honeydukes sweets being held by Lee Jordan. She added, "Anyway, _he _doesn't want me to join in."

Apparently Ron thought that would be the perfect moment to say, loudly, "If Scabbers hadn't just been _eaten,_ he could have had some of these Fudge Flies. He used to really like them."

That was it. She had been at the end of her rope, and that phrase had just snapped it. The fact that Ron was being so utterly pig-headed about the whole thing, not talking to her, and blaming her cat for what had happened made her flash back to the day of Halloween in first year; the day he called her a nightmare, and she had spent the day in the bathroom, crying her eyes out. It was like Ron was a bloody eleven year old again.

She had been fighting to keep it down for so long, but the lump in her throat finally overpowered her. She burst into tears. She tucked the Muggle Studies book under her arm and, still sobbing, blindly made her way to the staircase leading to the girls' dormitory. Luckily Parvati and Lavender were both down in the midst of the party, because right now she didn't think she could stomach their constant giggling about who they thought the most handsome seventh year was.

She threw her Muggle Studies book at the trunk at the foot of her bed, where it landed with a loud _thunk_, before throwing herself onto her bed and crying even harder than before.

She didn't even know what the bloody argument was about anymore. It had started when Crookshanks had taken a special interest in Scabbers. It escalated with the mystery Firebolt, and came to a head when Ron found Scabbers' blood and Crookshanks' hair on his sheets. But that had been a week ago. She knew full well that Crookshanks probably had eaten Scabbers. This was a law of nature; cats always chase rats. She had tried to tell him this, but he came up with some cock-and-bull excuse like "Scabbers was here first" or something equally stupid. She didn't think cats were selective about the rats they chased, and definitely didn't chase based on tenure. But the part that infuriated her the most was how heartbroken Ron had seemed to be over Scabbers' apparent death, when all he had done in the past was complain about how boring and useless Scabbers was. It just didn't make any sense. Wasn't it girls who ignored each other and said things behind backs to get each other riled? She thought boys were the ones to forgive and forget, or at least shout a lot to get the anger out and then go back to normal. She would have preferred the shouting, actually, because then she could shout back. The silence didn't speak volumes with their current not-talking state.

Hermione lay face-down on her bed and cried until her throat was sore and her eyes were sufficiently red. She sat up in her four-poster, and looked at her bedside table. There was a Wizarding picture of her, Harry, and Ron, taken last year on the last day of term. She had just been un-Petrified and they had just won the House Cup. Harry was in the middle with his arms slung over hers and Ron's shoulders. All three of them wore identical ear-to-ear grins. But this wasn't the picture she was focusing on, because next to that picture was a Muggle one of her and her parents on one of her first days of school. She remembered it was four years before she started at Hogwarts, so it was taken a few weeks before she turned eight. They were all on their front porch, Hermione's parents kneeling on both sides of her. Her bushy hair was tied down in twin plaits and she was missing several teeth.

For the first time since her first month at Hogwarts, Hermione felt homesickness overwhelm her. She wanted to be eight years old again and go to normal school where nobody's cat ate anybody's rat, and where life was simple and easy, and where her parents were always there for comfort.

But she couldn't. Being eight again would mean going back in time (not that that was impossible), but it would mean she didn't know she was a witch yet, and she wouldn't have any friends (not that she had any right now either). And going home wasn't an option either. There wasn't a break for almost another two months, and with her present workload, there was no way she was going home at Easter.

She couldn't go home. But she could reach home. She hadn't written to her parents in months. As she got older, she wrote home less and less, because it was becoming impossible, and really, it was just more of the same. But now was definitely not more of the same. Plus, getting a reply would mean seeing her parents' handwriting, and even that would be a comfort.

She took her (now slightly bent) Muggle Studies book off her trunk, opened it, and took out a roll of parchment and a quill. She'd have to make do with writing on the book, because all the good tables were in the Common Room. Dipping the quill into the ink, she began to write.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I'm feeling really horrible that I haven't written to you since September. And since I didn't come home at Christmas, I'm feeling even worse, so it's most definitely time for an update. _

_There's a lot going on here. I think I already told you that I'm taking every class offered this year. It's a lot of work, but you'll be pleased to know that I'm still studying hard. My favorite subject is Arithmancy; Professor Vector is so interesting and makes everything so much easier to understand. Gryffindor is playing for the Quidditch Cup in two weeks against Slytherin. We haven't won the Cup in almost ten years, so everyone's really excited. Crookshanks is doing well too._

_Me? Well, I could say that I'm doing fine, but that would be lying. This workload is becoming impossible, and sleep has been out of the question for the past few days. And on top of that, Harry and Ron aren't speaking to me. They've been almost consistently mad at me for most of the year, but it got really bad at Christmas, when Harry got a new broomstick sent to him without a note or a card or any inclination as to who sent it. I thought there was a possibility that it could be dangerous, so I told Professor McGonagall, who confiscated it. They got so angry with me, and I sort of understood; but didn't they get that I was just trying to help? I didn't want to see Harry get hurt if there was a curse on it or something. They sort of got over that, but then the real problem came last week when Ron thought that Crookshanks had eaten his rat, Scabbers. He didn't have any proof, except for a few cat hairs next to his bed, and was moping about it for so long (even though he never expressed interest in Scabbers before now). He was being a complete git, and Harry sided with him. Lately I've been spending most of my time studying or visiting Hagrid, who's been pretty much the only person to be nice to me in a while. _

_I'm not sure what to do besides continue to study, but without Harry and Ron as an outlet, I just might crack. What should I do?_

_Sorry for turning this letter into a venting session. _

_Hope you guys had a good Christmas. If things around here keep going downhill, there's a good chance you'll be seeing me at Easter._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

A week went by without a reply.

The next Saturday, Hermione was not in Hogsmeade with the rest. She was sitting in the Common Room, taking a rare break from studying to look up some dates of hippogriff cases for Hagrid. He'd been so nice to her these past few weeks, so it was the least she could do. She was copying down the details of a particularly nasty case when she heard a tapping on the window. Looking up, she saw the school barn owl she had used last week peering at her through the frosty glass of the window. Jumping up so fast she almost spilled ink all over her careful notes, she flew to the window and pulled it open, allowing the owl to hop onto the arm of the squashy red armchair on which she had been previously sitting. There was a small envelope tied to its leg (Muggles didn't have easy access to parchment). She practically tore it off the owl's leg, causing it to hoot indignantly at her. Ignoring it, she took off up the stairs to her dormitory. Again, she was alone, because everyone else was at Hogsmeade. She ripped the letter open.

_Dear Hermione,_ it read in her mother's neat cursive,

_Although we were thrilled to finally hear from you, we are both very sad that it had to be under these circumstances. _

_We are glad you are enjoying your classes and that you like Arithmancy. We're sure it's an excellent subject and you needn't bother explaining it to us, because we probably won't understand it anyway. And good for you for studying so thoroughly, although if it's becoming this much of a workload, you might want to consider dropping a subject or two next year._

_As for the issue of Ron and Harry, those two boys are your best friends. You might have to put aside your pride for once and just apologize. Although you said Ron didn't have any interest in his rat, he was still his pet, who I remember you mentioning had been in his family for quite a long time. Remember the fish we had when you were younger? You never fed them (shows how much you cared about them), but you were devastated when they died. If that doesn't help, try to think about it this way. In the long run, will it really matter if Crookshanks ate Ron's rat or not? They are pets; nice, but not necessary. Those boys are two people who have been there right next to you for more than two years. Does it really matter which one of you is right? I think you'd rather be wrong and have your friends back, than be right and only having your studying for company._

_Although we'd be over the moon to see you at Easter, we do hope things improve down at your end. All's well here._

_Lots of love,_

_Mum and Dad_

Hermione read the letter over again. You know that feeling you get when you tell your parents about a conflict and expect them to take your side? Well, that's what Hermione had been expecting. Instead, she had practically gotten told off by the letter. While she had been slightly miffed the first time she read it, as she read it over again, she knew her mother was right. Scabbers was gone, and although cats lived for quite a long time, Crookshanks would be as well, someday. She expected her friendships with Harry and Ron to last a lifetime.

And for the first time, Hermione Granger was perfectly content with being wrong.

She had never been so happy to be wrong as she showed Hagrid's letter to Harry and Ron; as she launched herself into Ron's arms and as he awkwardly patted her on the head.

She could get used to being wrong.


End file.
